I have a bad feeling and
self medicating only works for hours at a time
when last week you wouldn't leave my arms
and this week I can't remember your face
and when was the last time we communicated
for more than just minutes at a time
where warm bodies once resided only shadows now remain
while I sit and write this letter for the hundredth time on paper and my demons won't give me rest cause my heart feels half empty without you breathing in my chest
these winter nights are coldly griping at my soul and my stomachs so full of knots I can barely stand for the pain while ghosts of memories mock my ever downward gaze

the red haired one they called him
a tortured being that wandered
the moonlit streets at night
cursing god and weeping in turn
with his lurching gait
you could just smell the alcohol
on his breath
with a face inexplicably shadowed
no matter the time of day
if you got caught in his gaze
it seemed like he would wish
you to the depths of hell
tattoos on his arms
mingled with scars from burns
from cuts
from the tattered heart
he wore on his sleeve
spoke of a past now unknown
a mere shade of a human
all that saw him felt not fear
but pity
i passed by him once
with a hurried step and downward gaze
but he grabbed my arm
with a grip like iron
and i felt drawn upwards towards his face
with a cry of surprise
a wrench from his grasp
and flee down the streets
heart pounding fast
with barely a breath to catch
for i recognized me